Draco's 24 Hours of Life
by Escritora
Summary: Finally CH4!!! Draco has 24 hours to live cuz he's not becoming a Death Eater. What would you do if you had just 24 hrs? D/Hr, Draco professes love and does very un-Draco things. It doesn't matter what ppl think anymore...
1. Midnight--1 a.m.

A/N: Hey, under my Road trip story, which is doing GREAT (thanks!), I asked which of the two plots I proposed should I do first (touch the other one and I'll hurt you! Well, I did kinda reserve it, lol) and most of you (it was close) chose this one! I hope you like. I need a good title! :P Thanks!  
  
  
  
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I'm not a rich man, nor a handsome man. I know this, and accept that that will never change. I'm okay with that. I knew, yes I did, on the day that I opened the Leaky Cauldron that it'd never make me wealthy. But it makes me happy. I, a fairly poor and homely man, am happy.  
  
I hear a lot of stories of storts, some of pain and grieving, some of... okay, they're basically of pain and grieving. These stories come with the title of a bartender. I always said, "If you can't pay the time don't do the crime." Well, I reckon if you can't handle the heartwrenching tales then don't become a bartender.  
  
I remember a story an elderly man once told me about how his mother-in-law magicked him into a peanut with an anicent spell and his wife almost ate him. And another time, a young lady was telling about how she had left her husband at the altar; she still was wearing her dress and tiara as she spoke to me, and she had purple goo all over it. I asked her why the goo, and she said it was her almost mother-in-law. Yep, I get lots of mother-in- law stories.  
  
One day, it was the 18 of May, I'll never forget that date. It was nearing midnight on, yes, the 18, and was soon to be the 19. I remember because it was the day of my eldest daughter, Louisa Mae's, wedding to her boyfriend with the crooked nose. Well, young Jimmie was wiping the tables down like he always does when it's a quarter to midnight and Jade was sweeping the floors. I bustled up from behind the bar and was just about to hang up the "Closed" sign fifteen minutes early, since we were fresh out of customers and all.  
  
It was then that I noticed one customer that had yet to leave. Honest, I had no idea how long he had been sitting there or how I had missed him, but he looked awfully dreary. The young man was nursing a Butterbeer and I vaguely remembered serving one up to him an hour ago. I wasn't in the mood for another mother-in-law story, but as I said that I always say, "If you can't pay the time, don't do the crime," right?  
  
So I pulled up a stool to the table in the corner where the young gentleman was sitting and I said, "What's wrong, son? You looked like you just lost your best friend."  
  
"I wish," he said into his drink, nothing more.  
  
Well, I sat puzzled for a moment and I just said, "Sonny, what's your name?"  
  
"Draco," he replied, and for a two syllable word he made it sound like it was a mouthful, the way he strung it out mournfully. Perhaps this was worse than I had reckoned.  
  
"Well, Draco, I'm Bud Davies. Why don't you tell me what's on your mind?" That boy Draco didn't reply, but I could see he was thinking about it in his mind. He just needeed a push. "You'll feel much better," I insisted, and then sat quietly. The key to hearing a story is to make the person feel like it was their decision to tell, no one told them to. And after twenty- six years as a bartender and sole owner of the Leaky Cauldron, no one knew about getting stories out of people better than me.  
  
"I'm a Malfoy," he began, and I immediately realized what that meant. Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, was a Death Eater in training. Now it's a strict violation of myself to go on and blab what a customer told me so, although my blood ran as cold as the Greenland icebergs, I just gave him a "Go on" kinda nod and kept my bearings.  
  
"And May 19th is my eighteenth birthday. I promised myself as a Dea--dea... well you know, a Death Eater." I was surprised by this sputtering of such a calm boy; how could he be evil if he couldn't even say "Death Eater" without a struggle? He took a deep, staggered breath and continued, "I haven't taken my final oaths yet. That means that if I don't take them by midnight of the 19th, I'll die." He choked out the last part.  
  
Well, what was I supposed to say to that? In all of my twenty-six years at the Leaky Cauldron I had never had such a story. Why, I wanted to pat him on the back and ask him what was really bothering him, but I didn't dare. The expression on that face of his was all too solemn. This was real.  
  
"And you don't want to take those finals oaths, do you, boy?" I asked after a moment of silence, although I'm sure that I already knew the reply. Draco, he went on and shook his head, slowly and sadly. "I say," I said, finding some strength inside of myself, even though at that moment I had the urge to let go of my manly reputation and begin blubbering right there, in front of Jimmie and Jade and this poor soul, Draco Malfoy, "that you make the best of these last twenty-four hours. Do what you want, and live those hours like never before."  
  
Draco just kinda looked at me for a few moments, then stood up so quickly and suddenly that his drink teetered dangerously and almost crashed right over. He just nodded at me, for he wasn't a young man of many words, and quickly strode right out of the Leaky Cauldron. He didn't have to say nothing; I knew that this young man was gonna do something good. And I may not be a man of riches or looks, but I like to think that this man made something of himself, did some good, just from encouragement from Bud Davies.  
  
I hung up that "Closed" sign on the night of the 18 of May and might I say, I felt pretty darn good.  
  
  
  
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
  
  
  
MIDNIGHT-----1 A.M.  
  
  
  
The breeze of the cool night air cleansed my skin as I stood outside of the Leaky Cauldron, on the sidewalks of Diagon Alley. I cringed as the Philosophy Clock rang for midnight and blinked hard. "Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me, happy birthday dear Draco..." I sang sarcastically, kicking at a can littering the walkway. "Happy birthday to me..."  
  
Who would have ever known? I pondered as I walked along the stretch of concrete. When I was in 4th year, it was so easy to promise myself. After all, when you're fourteen, eighteen is a million years away. When it's the last day of school in 4th year, your last day at Hogwarts ever seems a lifetime away. And in a way, it had been a lifetime.  
  
I reached the corner of Birch and Dragon Heart Ave. and waited for the roads to clear. I hadn't brought my broom, but what did it matter now? A lifetime ago... It echoed in my mind. Truly, it had been, for a lifetime ago I would have never considered becoming something beside a Death Eater or falling in love with someone that wasn't of pureblood, let alone outside of Slytherin.  
  
I checked my watch as I crossed the street and into the Floo Station. 12:03. Great, three minutes out of my life gone. Only twenty-three hours and fifty-seven minutes left. Wait, make that fifty-six, I added silently as the long hand on my Muggle watch made another full revolution around the face.  
  
Once inside the Floo Station, I paid the attendant and tipped her generously; after all, what use would a dead man have for Galleons? I tossed the powder into my designated fireplace and muttered, "Hogwarts," audibly enough to get me to the right place. As much as I would have loved to scream at that dastardly fire, I didn't have any time to waste getting to the right place.  
  
I jumped in the fire, and it felt painful at first as usual. As the slight pain subsided into a dull ache, I kept my eyes closed as I traveled through the vortex of the passage that Floo Powder used. Father had always told me to keep my eyes closed, that the powder would blind you if it got in your eyes. I always wondered if he was kidding, if it was something like the Muggle thing about going cross-eyed from sitting too close to the television.  
  
Well, I might as well die blind, I thought grinning, and opened my eyes. Whoa! The colors were amazing, soft and glowing, and I watched as a young girl went flying by me, carrying her screeching cat by the tail. They seemed so close, like I could touch them. I reached out my hand, my fingers outstretched...  
  
Wham! I was usually so good at timing my landings from Floo Powder, but I had been preoccupied. Instead of landing in a crouching position on my feet, I felt my butt slam full-force into a stone corridor of Hogwarts. I dusted myself off, rubbed my sore behind, and staggered up, whilst grimacing of course. 12:10. How bitter time could be.  
  
I thought about how trivial it was that I was focusing on my bruised hindquarters rather than the fact that I had twenty-three hours and fifty minutes to live, but I eagerly welcomed the distraction. The dark, dank corridors gave me a forboding feeling but I chose to ignore it. What was the worst that could happen, somebody jumping out and killing me? Like it wasn't going to happen anyway. Basically, I had become fearless, because the worst was going to get me either way.  
  
I found the entrance to the Slytherin common room and almost reluctantly gave the password, "Viper Breath," to the portrait. I didn't feel right with the Slytherins anymore. Most thought it was ludicrous that I ignored the "obvious calling for becoming a Death Eater," as Pansy put it with transfixed eyes. Seriously, there must be some sort of subliminal message going on. Obviously I missed the comercial for Exploding Cheesy Snacks that it was aired on.  
  
Why do I have to be here? I thought grouchily, when it occurred to me. I didn't have to be anywhere. I could get expelled or in trouble and not go to classes; I was going to die! I just laughed aloud and walked straight out of the common room, as quickly and latent as I had come in.  
  
Where to first? Where to go? The school was mine for the roaming, I felt free and powerful. My watch read 12:30, but instead of pouting over the twenty-three and a half hours I had left, I rejoiced. I swore to make those the best twenty-three and a half hours I had ever had (er, not to mean that I usually compared lapses of twenty-three and a half hours, but you get it)!  
  
I was walking without thinking, just letting my feet do the maneuvering, and found myself venturing toward the Gryffindor tower. "Of course," I thought aloud, not caring who heard. If they woke up, they couldn't do anything. I was invincible. "I have a few certain Gryffindors to pay a visit to."  
  
"Password, please?" yawned Sir Cadogan of the portrait, yawning and eying at me suspiciously.  
  
I didn't even bother to reply. "Imperio!" I exclaimed with my ready wand, almost with glee. That spell was strictly forbidden on Hogwarts grounds, but that didn't matter. "Now, open up and let me inside," I order. Sir Cadogan just nodded sleepily and swung open; I crawled through the space easily, seeing that I am thin and lithe.  
  
The common room of the Gryffindors was eerily quiet, with an equally eery glow to the dark corners of the room. I shivered; it was unnaturally cold. A mischievous smirk spread across my deranged lips and I crept slowly towards the Prefects shuttle.  
  
The Prefects shuttle was a convenient transportation device for the prefects of the house each was located within to get to the Prefect meeting room and dormitories, as well as bathroom. Undoubtedly I'd find them there. Harry Potter, Ron Weasly, and Hermione Granger were prefects after all.  
  
"A quarter to one," I thought aloud bitterly, but smiled rather than grimaced. The prefects' common room was dark and desolate, but my eyes were used to the black of the night and I made out the lamp in the corner. It took just a tug of the string and the whole room lit up. It was so simple. I pulled the string again, and the blackness returned. Then light. Then dark. Light. Dark. Light. Dark. Light. It was amazing how you stop to notice all the small things when you're going to die. Not to be sappy, but I wondered why I had never been too appreciative of lamps before.  
  
I skirted across the carpet (yes, I had left the light on) and easily unlocked the girls' dormitory. Uh-oh. I had not been expecting what was in front of me. I remembered Potter telling me something of what he had had to accomplish in order to get to Voldemort in his first year, and this looked like something out of it, only different. There were thousands--no, millions!--of keys, flying around. I winced and ducked as one almost took off my ear as it whizzed by.  
  
Through the blur created by the fast-moving keys, I could vaguely see a large, rectangular portrait with the picture of a beautiful woman in a Victorian dress. She looked down at me in a high-and-mighty, assuming manner and with an upturned nose demanded, "Password." I knew that she didn't believe I had it.  
  
"Imperio!" I tried to scream but the whirring sound drowned me out and the spell was ineffective. How was her voice so booming? "I need to get in!" I called, hoping she could hear me, even slightly. "This is life or death!" She just kept staring at me, and had obviously not heard.  
  
I took a deep breath and marched up to her, keys hitting me sharply. I felt one cut my left cheek and felt the blood dribble down my neck, but it didn't matter. Then, I did an act that would have caused expulsion. I dug into my pocket, picket up my pocket knife*, and waved it around threateningly. I watched the pompous painting blanch, gulp hard, and swing open obediently. "Wise decision," I muttered, although even I couldn't hear myself.  
  
If possible, this hole was even smaller than the Gryffindors' and I chafed my already bleeding cheek. I cursed loudly, and then cursed at myself for cursing, which resulted in a string of words that I thought it best not to mention.  
  
Either way, the mesmerizing lamp, the spat with the portrait and the never- ending tunnel took fifteen minutes out of my life as my watch beeped annoyingly for 1 a.m.  
  
  
  
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*I don't know why he has a pocket knife, he just does, k? Good.  
  
  
  
Thanks! Please review and check out Road trip!!!!! 


	2. 1 a.m.--2 a.m.

A/N: Hi. Sorry it took so long but WOW! Sooo many reviews! I was kinda embarassed how in my other stories the list of my replies to reviews took up so much space, like half of the arrow thing, so I'm trying to condense it. Thanks all.  
  
This isn't as well-written as the last chapter, since this has more dialogue. Also, it makes a few sexual references. I had to, I just kept writing and writing and it wasn't getting any longer!! Grr that is annoying, and I'm in a really piss-ass mood. Sorry, but I just am. I hate guys right now, did I mention that? Honestly, I hate this chapter, it's crap, but I thought I owed you guys a chapter.  
  
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER.  
  
  
  
  
  
I stepped down on the floor of the female prefects' dorm, muttered, "Lumos," and immediately admired the lush pure white carpet. A dirty footprint of mine was left and I watched in amazement as the untouched floor sucked in the dirt and became as a good as new. A self-replenishing floor? I was impressed. I had to wonder if it was actually like that in the Slytherins' common room. It could be; I never took the time to notice.  
  
I glanced around and immediately recognized Sheena Mesmont, a Gryffindor. That meant that I was in the right location at least. I tiptoed around the rows of beds, scanning the faces for hers. There was Lavender Brown... oh, and Parvati Patil... She couldn't be too far.  
  
Ah, there was Hermione Granger. Somehow I had always envisioned her sleeping neatly on her back, as if she was an angel who subconsciously did not want to crush her wings. Instead, she was lying on her side, curled up into her pillow. She still looked angelic and beautiful, and human, and I found myself standing there, breathless, watching her sleep.  
  
She murmured gently and I froze; for thirty seconds I did not breathe nor blink. Wait! Why was I trying not to wake her? I'd be doing it in a minute anyway? I gave myself a mental swat on the head and took a long breath for clarity.  
  
I quickly maneuvered around her bed, to the side where she was facing. Her face was so serene and peaceful; I hated to wake her. I hated to. I couldn't do it. I had to. I... I took out my wand, and flicked it. "Totalus crimilence!" It was a spell I had stumbled upon in my father's library that combined a silencer and a body bind.  
  
Her eyes flicked open, met mine, and I could hear with every bone in my body her piercing silent scream. It was in her eyes, those eyes opened wide in terror. I gulped and backed away, even though I knew that she couldn't attack me.  
  
Explanations would come, but Lavender Brown was stirring in her bed so I deemed it best to explain to Hermione why she was being kidnapped later. "Er, Leviosa." The already lightweight Hermione was picked up and heaved over my shoulder as I crept quickly towards the exit of the girl's dorm.  
  
"I know you can't apparate into a dorm, but maybe out..." I thought, with the prospect of getting through the room of keys unscathed in mind. I closed his eyes and concentrated hard on the prefects' common room.  
  
"It's not working," I thought sourly, and opened his eyes. I was in the common room! It was the easiest apparition I had ever had. I wasn't trained, and I knew that I could easily mess up, so I vowed to keep apparition to a minimal. I'd die at midnight, sure, but I was hoping to die in one piece. I chuckled at the thought of half of me falling dead in the library and the other half in Hogsmeade. How grim I had become!  
  
I set Hermione on the couch; she was glaring at me, and I knew that if she could hex with her eyes I would be rolling over like a dog while wearing a fluffy purple jumpsuit, singing the "Animal Crackers in my soup" song and eating newts' eyes topped with rotten chunks of whole milk. Needless to say, I grimaced and decided not to give Hermione her motion back just yet.  
  
"Hi, Granger," I said casually, and realized how dumb that must have sounded. "I'm sorry I had to curse you. I want to talk to you." I'd say "with you" but I thought since she wouldn't be having an active part in the upcoming conversation it would only further provoke her wrath.  
  
"I'm not going to hurt you," I insisted, but she rolled her eyes and wouldn't keep them on me. "I'm not going to be a Death Eater."  
  
She eyed me cautiously, as if I was putting her on, and her expression prodded me on. "Um, well. I took my first vows of becoming one in fourth year. I should have taken my final oath to become one by eighteenth birthday, which is today, May 19th. Happy birthday to me.  
  
"But, I didn't. I don't want to be one; I changed my mind. Evil, killing. It's just not me. Blood would not look good with this shirt... okay, I see that you're not in the joking mood," I said, wincing slightly. "So... I'm going to die at midnight."  
  
I just stared at her, and she stared at me. It went on like this for a minute or two, and then I realized that I was waiting for her to say something, which was ridiculous of me. "Hermione, I'm going to give you back your voice. But, I'm going to make it so that you can only speak very quietly, okay? Okay." I hesitated before saying, "Dissipatus minimus."  
  
"Dracomalfoyiswearwhenigetoutofhereimgoingtokillyouhowdareyougivemethat storyafterkdnappingmeicantbelievethis..." I began to get bored by her soft hisses that rambled together.  
  
"Are you done?" I asked, a little more harshly than I would have liked. She pouted in my direction. "Say it," I urged mentally. "Tell her that you love her. Tell her that she's the reason why you won't be a Death Eater. Tell her that she's changed you." But I sat quietly, not ready. Not ready just yet.  
  
"Why do you need me?" she finally asked, softening only the slightest bit.  
  
"Because," I said, thinking of a reason as the words came. "Uh, for one thing..." That's good; if I start it out like that I can think of a better reason as I go on. "For one thing, I want to have a good last day, and I think it would be, er, enjoyable if I hung out with some of you people rather than the Slytherins. And, uh, two... Two, I'm dying. Would you refuse me?" I put on my most pathetic face.  
  
"Yes, I would," she replied plainly.  
  
"Three: COME ON! I'm sorry!"  
  
"You WHAT?"  
  
"I'm SORRY. S-O-R-R-Y. Sorry," I said quickly, not used to apologizing. "I was always mean to you. Sorry, Granger."  
  
"Alright," Hermione said.  
  
"Really?" I was skeptical; was I that good at begging?  
  
"Yeah. If you really mean it… fine."  
  
Funny... I didn't realize all I had to do was apologize. That was so easy! Women are easily appeased. Then again, they're also easily ruffled, so it evened out I suppose.  
  
"Well?" said, expectantly.  
  
"Well what?"  
  
"What's next? What are we going to do now?"  
  
"Get Potter and Weasley, I guess." I knew what I wanted to do, but my reasoning was still a little fuzzy. Her look demanded an explanation. "We need to make amends and, uh, yeah." Hermione still seemed infuriated and was not satisfied by this answer but she accepted it anyway.  
  
"What time is it?" she asked, yawning softly. I cringed, as once more I was reminded of the time. It was 1:15 a.m.  
  
I gave Hermione her movement back and she stretched. "Do you know the guys' password?" I asked her.  
  
"Bleeding pit," Hermione replied grimly. I just nodded.  
  
We swung the door open to the boys' dorm and I froze; fire was dancing up all of the walls! If I had that thought that flying knife-life keys were bad... Wait! Was this supposed to be on fire? I opened my mouth to yell, "FIRE!! FIRE!!!!!!!!!!" but a soft hand clamped down on my mouth.  
  
For a moment, everything stopped. The flames stopped dancing, I stopped breathing, the world came to a screeching halt. All I knew was that I could smell her hands, right under my nose. It was lavender soap. I could almost taste it too, those lacy fingers lay right over my lips. I blinked, and the moment ended.  
  
"Don't scream, it's supposed to be like that," she whispered. I was surprised that she didn't let me wake everyone up so that she didn't have to spend the day with me, but I was too busy being relieved. For a minute there, I genuinely believed that Hogwarts was on fire.  
  
There was a portrait across the small room that appeared to be repelling the flames. It was of a short, squeamish looking clean-shaven man with scraggly red hair. "BLEEDING PIT!" Hermione called, but as I had cursed her it only came above a whisper.  
  
"BLEEDING PIT!" I yelled. The portrait glanced at me, having not noticed Hermione and my entrance, and then automatically slid aside and the flames stopped. It was like the parting of the red sea; as soon as we crossed the room they started up again, and we quickly scrambled into the tunnel.  
  
It was odd; in the regular house rooms, there was no tunnel, but here it was cramped. I realized that my ass was probably sticking right into Hermione's face and suddenly felt very bashful and self-conscious. I tried to lower it and was about to apologize or something when I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. Funny, why was there a light on.  
  
My father had said that there was always a light at the end of a tunnel, only that sometimes it was a train. This didn't exactly help the situation, and I crawled much more slowly, not wanting to know why the light was on. "Freezus." I muttered, right before Hermione and I stumbled out into the male prefects' dorm.  
  
We dusted ourselves off and looked at the frozen sight in front of us. It was 1:20 a.m. I must say that I laughed hysterically, Hermione along with me. I dropped to the floor, tears coming. I had never laughed that hard, not even when Father slipped and fell into the apparition of Voldemort (of course, I was punished severely for cracking up at that, but it was still side-splitting).  
  
There in front of me was Neville Longbottom and Pansy Parkinson sharing a bed! Pansy had the comforter pulled up over her chest, but her shoulders were bare and they both were blushing furiously. Ron was frozen in time, grabbing his ribs from the laughter and his mouth was wide open, one of his hands against it. Dean Thomas was pointing and gaping, and several were rolling on the floor. Harry could be found next to Ron, looking more disgusted than amused.  
  
"Oh... my... god..." I heard Hermione choke out. "I always knew Pansy was a slut... but desperate...?" I had to smile... wait, I was already smiling. Hermione was such a sweet, chaste girl. I had to admire her for that, seeing that most Hogwarts guys would drops their pants for her in a heartbeat. Myself included. Speaking of pants…  
  
"Granger… I have an idea." A mischievous smile twitched onto my face. "What colour do you think Finnigan's boxers are?"  
  
"I guess there's only one way to find out," Hermione grinned. "Would you like to have the honors?"  
  
"I insist that you have them," I smiled sweetly. If only she knew at that moment how much that agreeing look of hers meant to me. Hermione winked and strode across to where Seamus Finnigan was standing. He was gasping at the site, bemused, and his hand had flown to his mouth. He wore an undershirt and navy sweatpants.  
  
She gave me a last look, and then grabbed the sweats and yanked on them. "Plaid, eh?" I laughed, and she giggled furiously.  
  
"I feel so awful!" she divulged, but the adrenaline lined look on her face was worth everything to me. Now's your chance, Draco, I told myself. Tell her. Open your mouth, let words come out. Tell her.  
  
"Should I revive Potter and Weasley?" I asked instead, finally catching my breath. I was still hot and flushed from laughing—how hysterical it was! Harry looked pretty funny, scowling at the scene, and there was Finnigan in his plaid boxer shorts.  
  
"Not just yet," said Hermione, a wicked smile creeping up on her face. "Malfoy, do you remember 5th year when Ron and Harry read my diary?"  
  
"Of course I remember!" I wanted to scream. "I've paid attention to everything you've done or had done to you! I love you! I know you better than you'll ever know!" Instead, I simply shrugged, "Vaguely."  
  
"Well, I do believe Ron keeps one himself," she continued, smiling insinuatingly.  
  
"Ooooh, I get you," I grinned. "Shall we?"  
  
"Let's." I followed her to the sixth bed where Ron's possessions were strewn ("You know the location of Ron's bed well," I teased.) and she began rummaging through his small dresser, throwing random things out of it. A jockey strap landed on my left shoulder and I eyed it strangely before I shrugged it off.  
  
"I always like to have Ron's unusually coloured underwear land on me at 1:30 in the morning," I grimaced, and Hermione shot me an apologetic smile.  
  
"Here it is!" she announced, looking oh-so-pleased. She held up a plain orange notebook with a slightly torn cover and what looked to be water damage. I took it from her and we sat on the edge of Ron's bed. Hermione didn't seem dazed in the slightest bit that Ron was standing right there, only frozen, so I tried not to either. It was a bit odd however.  
  
  
  
  
  
Dear Journal,  
  
I was almost hesitant to take this after what happened with Ginny in 2nd year. That asshole Malfoy. I bet his son was in on it too, leave it to Malfoy to do that to Gin. Anyway, Percy thought it was a good idea for me to have a journal but Fred and George ridiculed the hell out of me.  
  
Harry is so blind. Just now Hermione came in and was asking him all about the Opening Ceremonies Dance and all he could so was stare at Cho. How does he not see that she likes him? Harry, he's a daft bloke, let me tell you. I feel bad for Hermione, she deserves better. I have to go, Harry wants me to come with him down to the Quidditch pitch.  
  
~Ron  
  
  
  
  
  
I looked up sharply at Hermione; she was blushing like a Weasley. "I KNEW you liked Harry!" I smirked but inside I was going cold. This was not something I wanted confirmed the day I was going to die.  
  
"Key word being 'liked'!" she insisted. "Past tense! That was in 5th year! This entry must be old!" Her finger found the date, which was indeed from 5th year. I sighed inwardly, relieved. Not like you had a chance with her anyway, a voice inside my head whispered. I shuddered.  
  
Hermione kept reading aloud, but I began to tune her out and entered my own train of thought. Draco, the voice said, sending shivers up my spine, she can barely stand you. She's only here right now because of pity. No one could ever love you! You're Draco Malfoy, an almost Death Eater! You're practically evil, you're practically—  
  
"SHUTUP!" Draco screamed, and then stopped breathing, realizing it had been aloud. Hermione slowly looked up and stared at him.  
  
"I'm… sorry?" she said questioningly.  
  
Smooth one, Malfoy. Why don't you just call her a Mudblood again? And then, you can die like they expect you to. Cold-hearted and careless. Why change now? You can't. It's too late. Give it up.  
  
"NO!"  
  
"Draco!?" Hermione was now looking at me like I was crazy.  
  
"I'm sorry Hermione, I'm just thinking crazily… it's nothing… What?" She was looking at me strangely, a small smile lining on her lips.  
  
"You called me Hermione."  
  
"Did I?" I replied dully. I had always called her Hermione in my mind and dreams and thoughts, it just never came out that way aloud. "Well, Hermione, anything interesting in Ron's diary? I was zoning out."  
  
"Just that he has an immense crush on Fred's ex-girlfriend Angelina Johnson and found some, er, strange things in Percy's bottom drawer last summer," giggled Hermione, and she winked playfully. "I know I should feel guilty, but I feel very alive suddenly. It's strange, but it feels great."  
  
"Good," was all I could stammer out. I sat quietly as she continued reading for several minutes about how he wrote Angelina a letter and then burnt it, and how Percy and his girlfriend had a humongous fight about how she dressed in public.  
  
"Here's a good one," she said, and I made an attempt to listen. Ron's life was seemingly dull so far.  
  
  
  
  
  
Dear Journal,  
  
My god. I feel awful. You know Ginny's boyfriend, Justin? He broke up with her last night and I think it's my fault. Okay, so I know that it's my fault. Ginny never had a boyfriend before, since she was always hung up over Harry, and it was striking me as weird. I went up to Justin and I had a, er, talk with him about how he should treat her right and his intentions. I kept the threats to a minimal, honest! But I think I scared him, because he broke up with Ginny without an explanation!  
  
I didn't tell her it was me! That would be suicide! Oh well, she'll meet someone new. As long as it's not Malfoy! Yech, she was looking at him all googly at him today and when I asked her she said it was his lab partner, Hunter Jinkes that she was looking at! I said, "That toad!?" and she kicked me in the shins! I guess I deserved it. Adieu.  
  
~Ron  
  
  
  
  
  
"Ginny was so mad about that! And it was Ron! How could he!" Hermione seemed as if Ron had just committed a federal crime. I guess it was a girl thing. "I just have to tell her!"  
  
"Then Ron will know we were reading his diary," I said. She slouched, sulking at this thought as if to say, "Point taken."  
  
"It's a quarter to two," she sighed sadly, looking at the clock on the bed stand. "How… how are you doing?"  
  
"Surprisingly good," I admitted, folding my arms protectively across my chest. "I'm not scared, but I don't think the reality has fully hit me yet. I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to—"  
  
"Stop saying that!" Hermione said shrilly.  
  
"Like you care?" I scoffed, and realized that I was being honest. Why should she care? I was never anything but awful to her.  
  
"Malfoy… I don't like you but I don't want you to die," Hermione said. "I'm not horrible, you know."  
  
"I do know," I said, and I looked into those brown eyes. They wouldn't look at mine, but they opened widely. "I said I was sorry."  
  
"I know," she nodded. "I heard you."  
  
An awkward moment of silence passed. I cleared my throat to break it. "Uh, let's get Ron and Harry before we waste any more time, alright?"  
  
"Right."  
  
I raised my wand, ready to flick it and spark life to Harry and Ron. "WAIT!" I paused at Hermione's outburst. "I think we should get back at Ron for what he did to Ginny."  
  
"What do you have in mind?" I arched an eyebrow. She was so beautiful when she mixed mischief with revenge. And she was sharing it with me. Me, Draco Malfoy.  
  
"Sit tight," she commanded, heading toward the door. "I'll be back in a second." I watched her disappear down the tunnel and realized that she might not come back. But Hermione wouldn't do that. She just wouldn't. Would she? Could she?  
  
I sat, pondering this on the edge of a bed, then jumped up, disgusted, as I realized that it was the one inhabited by Neville and Pansy. "Pansy, Pansy," I chuckled. "Now this is a Kodak moment."  
  
"Alright, Hermione," I said, frustrated. It had been ten frickin' minutes out of my life, nearing two o'clock, and she was nowhere to be seen. "You really did leave, didn't you?"  
  
"You doubted me?" I spun around incredulously and locked eyes with my angel. There was Hermione, smiling sweetly, and she winked for the second time that night. Hermione Granger was winking at ME. I felt so special, as if every time she smiled at me I was given a gift. I was lucky to be seeing that smile.  
  
In her hand was a small, plastic see-through bag that was holding what a closer look revealed to be cosmetics. "You're NOT going to!" I exclaimed, laughing once more.  
  
"Oh, I am," she said, and began advancing towards him. His mouth was wide open still, and she grabbed his hand and pulled it away from her face. "Does he look like a crimson or a blushing pink?"  
  
"Definitely a blushing pink," I drawled. "After all, the Weasleys are known for their embarrassed blush."  
  
A few minutes passed and we stood back to admire our work (Hermione had let me do the eyebrows… er, lack thereof now.). I chuckled, "Well, all I can say is—"  
  
"Pansy oughtta scoot out and make room for Miss Ron in that bed with Neville?"  
  
"Exactly."  
  
My watch beeped for 2 a.m. Suddenly the situation wasn't as fun as it had been a moment ago.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Hi. I don't want to take up all this space listing the reviews so I'll put it in paragraph form or something, kay? Sorry that this chapter sucks. What it lacks in quality it makes up for in quantity.  
  
Thanks to:  
  
  
  
***Jaboc*** (Yes, sorta cuz each chapter is an hour. Please do check Road trip out!), ***Roguesiren*** (sorry, hope here's some more), ***Charmedhpfanatic*** (sorry it's been so long please 4give), ***Quicksilver***, ***S.Maldiva***, ***Miel Abong*** (Okay, your review was sooo flattering! THANKS!!! Just register and click upload after saving your word with Microsoft Word or notepad), ***DMRox***, ***Ailura Starscribe***, ***mirei nochi*** (so wud I, lol, j/k), ***Flame and Ice*** (I see u guys are blink fans too like me!! I'm glad Flame likes the idea), ***Anna***, ***Magic Bunny***, ***melanie***, ***Peaceful Storm***, ***Dragon Eyes***, ***Trippinwithcats*** (neither do I! I'll see what I can do!), ***StarShine*** (wow, thanks!), ***Macbeth Hamlet***, ***MordsithGoddess*** (yeah, neither can I!), ***Laureate*** (I don't want to, I need to find a way out of it), ***jessiCA*** (just an obstacle to get into the room), ***smileygirlo3*** (I will email u now), ***MiyaQui*** (Oh, so u have? *pouts*), ***joyce*** (I'm glad, and thanks so much!), ***The Evil Anonoymous J*** (I will try to! I'm sure they're great), ***lydia*** (sorry bout ur space bar but ty!), ***Dazma*** (update penpal!!! Now!!! I demand of u!!!), ***joyce*** (again? Sry, here's ur update!)  
  
  
  
Phew. Thanks for so many reviews… I got 30!!! 30 for one chapter! WOW-ness. You gotta top that? Any way you can get me 31 this time? You're gonna have to top yourself and give me 31 for this chapter!!! It's real late, but hopefully some of u are on and will review. No chapter til I get my reviews. Cruel, but that's what we like to call authors abusing their privilege. Love u all. Adios.  
  
  
  
  
  
And I'm out… 


	3. 2 a.m.--3 a.m.

A/N: Ahhh, sorry it's been forever. I was waiting for 61 reviews, and as soon as I got it I was sidetracked by vacation. I feel so bad that it's only ten minutes since I've gotten home and I'm starting.  
  
Forgive me, and I'm still so amazed at the response I got for this story. I'll try to keep it funny and full of Draco's sadistic, amusing thoughts. Love you, thanks for the patience.  
  
Oh, and pronounce "Farrah" like so: FAIR-uh.  
  
Neiman=NAY-min.  
  
(The rest should be obvious.)  
  
Disclaimer: Sorry, here is the chapter—unfortunately, only the idea is mine, the rest is JK's.  
  
  
  
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I was almost hesitant to unfreeze Ron and Harry and finish the "bonding session" I was having with Hermione. But, all good and strange things must come to an end and Hermione used her superior magic skills to wake up only Ron and Harry from the spell.  
  
We stood, waiting for a reaction. They didn't move. "Hermione," I whispered nervously, nudging her in the side, "are you sure that you did this right? They're not moving."  
  
"So I noticed," she hissed, equally under her breath.  
  
"Do something."  
  
"Like what?" she snapped, eyeing Ron and Harry's still bodies suspiciously.  
  
"I don't know." I let my eyes wander around the room. They settled on a long, sleek wire from Harry's broomstick kit. It was used for filing the wood or something or other; I had never paid much attention to anything Harry had said. "Perfect," I exclaimed with a plotting smile lining my face. I picked up the metal stick and ran my bare fingers along it. It was cold to touch, like ice.  
  
"Here," I said, thrusting it in Hermione's direction. She took a step back, unwilling to take it from me. Instead, I received a "What-is-wrong- with-this-kid?" look.  
  
"Why do I need a Broom Musker?" asked Hermione. So that was what that thing was called. "I don't think Ron or Harry need to have a shiny coat on their wooden bodies."  
  
"Poke him."  
  
"WHAT!?"  
  
"I said, 'Poke him'."  
  
"You're mad!" she said, but Hermione took the Broom Musker. I watched her, in great detail, as she studied the long, smooth object and held it out tentatively in Harry's direction (he was closest). Hermione turned to me one final time. "You really are." And she drew closer to Harry, the Broom Musker getting closer and closer to him until it was only an inch… only a centimeter… only a…  
  
"—some clothes on, come on guys! Lets—Hermione? What's going on?"  
  
Hermione and I screamed as Harry snapped to life. He was bewildered, and rightfully so. The last thing the Boy-Who-Lived had known, he had caught Neville and Pansy in bed together. I shudder, just thinking of it. Note the shoulders making a shuddering motion.  
  
"What in the blazes…? You froze everyone!" That was Ron. He had now gained motion as well. He and Harry were causing quite the ruckus, whereas Hermione and I sat quietly on the edge of Neville's (and Pansy's—shudder) bed, waiting for them to calm down. And they did. Until Ron pointed out that his lips tasted like cherry and Harry took a close look at Ron's face, that is.  
  
A race to find a mirror ensued, and Hermione finally held up the compact one that she had brought in. Everyone held his breath as Ron flung the mirror in front of his face. It was quiet. "Hermione," Ron said calmly, "did you do this?"  
  
Hermione took a deep, solemn breath. "Yes."  
  
"And Draco?" Ron continued.  
  
I nodded. "Uh huh."  
  
"Well then," Ron said. "Will someone please tell me why I am covered in makeup before I hurt someone!?"  
  
His voice rose and cracked while he spoke. What a time to go through puberty. "Easy there, Ron," Hermione soothed. "Draco has his reasons for having stopped time. Just listen."  
  
"And I imagine he has his reasons for the makeup too? And did you just call him Draco?"  
  
"No," Hermione said curtly.  
  
"Of course not," said I.  
  
"You must be mistaken."  
  
"But I'm quite sure—"  
  
"You must be hearing things," Hermione cut in, moving along. "Now, let Draco talk."  
  
I faced dry expressions as I explained to them my predicament with the whole "I'm-going-to-die-because-I'm-not-quite-evil-but-that-doesn't- mean-I'm-nice-so-keep-your-pants-on" story. They sat quietly, and I admired that they were willing to hear me out. Hermione seemed to beam that she had heard this before; Mione was always one to vie to be on top of everything and in the know.  
  
"How long were we frozen? What time is it?" Ron asked to break the awkward silence that had followed my story.  
  
I groaned but grudgingly checked my watch. "2:10. Thanks a lot."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"Nothing, Weasley." My foul mood was growing worse and it didn't help that stupid, unnecessary questions were being asked. "Let's just go."  
  
"Pardon me, Your Highness, but 'let's just go' where?" Everything Ron said dripped with sarcasm. It was too annoying.  
  
"Yeah, Draco," Harry chimed in. "What exactly did you have in mind?"  
  
An internal debate thus began in my head. Oh, I had ideas about what I had to do. I knew exactly what I should do, anyway. But it had never crossed my mind that Harry and Ron would be on it too. If I was going to be like a martyr, I sure as hell didn't want them getting the glory too but able to live. Nuh uh. Things just didn't work that way with me.  
  
But… I couldn't exactly shake them now. Hermione would disapprove, and there was no way I was leaving her behind. She was my first love and, judging by the fact that I was to die in less than twenty-two hours, chances were that she'd be my only love.  
  
Why did I love Hermione Granger? May wonders never cease. For my defense, my father didn't like her. Isn't that reason enough for a teenage boy to ogle over a girl? But I'd be lying if I said that I loved her for being a curse word in my household. Hermione had life. Life, living, breathing, loving, laughing… something I'd never had. She had zest, zeal, friends, adventure, and spirit. Which were all things that had been excised of me as a child. I had to admire her internal beauty—but let me tell you, she wasn't hard on the eyes at all. I am a teenager, after all, cut me a break.  
  
Anyway, it was too late to change my mind now. Harry and Ron were in on it, for better or for worse. By the looks of it, for worse. Did I mention that Hermione had a radiant glow to her? Okay. Just checking.  
  
I cleared my throat. "We're going to the Mansion."  
  
Hermione made a face. "Why do we have to go to your house, Dra—Malfoy? I thought that you wanted to do right today, not bring us into the favorite hangout of your Death Eater friends."  
  
On impulse, I whipped out my wand and made a move to shove her against the wall. I stopped myself before I laid a hand on Hermione; everyone stared at me, blinking. Blinking hard. Blinking at the maniac that was about to strike a girl with his wand. Strike a girl with a stick, like a Muggle would. I made my voice low, trying to threaten although clearly I was not in an intimidating mood. "Listen, Granger, I'm not a Death Eater. I told you that. Get over it."  
  
She straightened her blouse and sighed disgustedly, but remained meekly quiet as I spoke. "Now, we're going to the Mansion. Anyone have any problems?"  
  
They shook their heads in unison. I chuckled. "Weasley?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You might want to take that stuff off now. I have a feeling some of Father's friends might try to hit on you, looking like that." Ron scowled and performed a purifying spell; the sad part was that I was not kidding. Not in the last bit. More shuddering.  
  
  
  
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I bet that you've read over and over that the path to my house is full of trickery and subterfuge. Well, it's not. Unless, of course, you consider walking on a pebble path, climbing over a gate, and knocking on a door deception.  
  
Unfortunately, that's the way it would be if I wasn't traveling with Harry Potter. My father and his band of Death Eaters. We could only travel by Apparition up until a mile away from my house, because any closer and my father would track us.  
  
We landed at 2:30 in the woods by my tree house as a kid. I used to love that thing. I'd climb it every day with Farrah Young and Hugh McGregor when we were children. Now, of course, Farrah was an exclusive Death Eater prostitute at eighteen-years-old and Hugh was paralyzed from the waist down from one of Voldemort's plans gone wrong. That's what I get for making friends with the children of my father's cronies—Death Eaters.  
  
"What is that crude thing?" Ron asked as he peered up into an old oak tree.  
  
"That," I replied tartly, "is my tree house."  
  
Hermione snorted.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You don't seem like the type to have buddies sleep over in a tree house and eat pizza all night long."  
  
I gave Hermione a blank stare. "We made hit lists." That shut her up.  
  
"Ow!" Harry complained, swatting at his leg. "I just got bit by a mosquito!"  
  
I almost laughed out loud. Harry could handle the Dark Lord, but not a mosquito? This one was going down in the journal. Er, not that I kept a journal or anything… more like a log… moving right along…  
  
"Draco, which way to the Mansion?" As usual, Hermione was the voice of reason.  
  
"There we go again, I heard 'Draco'!"  
  
"No you didn't," said Hermione.  
  
"Not at all," I agreed.  
  
"But I think—" Harry wore a confused face.  
  
"No."  
  
"But—"  
  
"No."  
  
By this time Hermione and I had started to laugh. I needed not to get distracted; I don't think the other three realized how important what we were going to do really was. Then again, they didn't even know what we were going to do in the first place. How I pitied their ignorance.  
  
The counselor had taught me to calm myself down. So I did.  
  
10…  
  
9…  
  
8…  
  
7…  
  
6…  
  
5…  
  
4…  
  
3…  
  
2…  
  
1…  
  
Okay, so it's cliché, but it works for me. I opened my eyes and gasped. "Farrah?"  
  
I jumped over a mossy log and knelt down to where the battered body lay. I heard the crunch of leaves as Ron, Harry, and Hermione followed and crouched beside me. "Who is that?" Hermione whispered, and quickly added, "I'm not poking her!"  
  
I knew who it was without rolling her over, which I did. Her nose was broken and bleeding; her eyes bloodshot and swollen; her body covered with bruises and marks; and her clothes were as dirty and matted as her usually long blonde hair. "That," I announced as the chills took over my body, "is Farrah Young."  
  
If I had hoped for a dramatic, sitcom-ish reaction, then I had been let down. Ron bluntly said, "So?"  
  
I shoved him over from where he knelt and he tumbled onto his side. "So, I know her. And she's in trouble."  
  
"You know her?" Hermione's eyes were narrowed.  
  
"What, jealous?" I mocked sourly. "Harry, help me get 'er up."  
  
Harry nodded glumly and we hoisted her up into a sitting position against a tree. Her head rolled back, and I pushed it back up. She opened it to talk, but almost collapsed again.  
  
"She smells horrid," Harry stated, but he didn't seem to be complaining.  
  
"That's alcohol, Harry," I smirked as I pulled a few pasty strands of hair out of her face. "One day you'll learn all about it."  
  
"I know what al-key-doll is!" Harry insisted furiously. Was it a bad sign that I was too weary to poke fun at him?  
  
"Fine," I replied. "Now shutup."  
  
Farrah made a croaking sound. It hurt to see her face. Last time we had met, I had been eleven, she had been twelve. Her long hair had been tied in a neat braid down the spine of her back, laying on the velvet cloth of her forest green Christmas dress. I remember how she had sung "Silent Night." That was pre-harlot Farrah.  
  
Now, she wore what seemed to be a man's dirtied overshirt, and nothing else at all. Her legs and arms were stained with dirt and blood. Her face was covered with smeared makeup and more blood. Yes, more blood. I will not shudder again.  
  
"Draco," Harry whispered, "what happened?"  
  
"I'm supposing that she was raped."  
  
Harry's mouth formed an "O." Poor, naïve git. I almost pitied him.  
  
"That's awful," Hermione murmured.  
  
"Help me."  
  
"What, Mione?"  
  
"That wasn't me, that was Tara!"  
  
"Farrah," I corrected through gritted teeth.  
  
"Help," Farrah repeated.  
  
"I can't do any spells," I admitted sheepishly. "My father will track us if magic is used."  
  
"Do you want your friend to die?" Harry said harshly. My stomach sank.  
  
"Fine," I muttered. "Hermione, you're training to be a Healer, right?"  
  
"Right," she said, and we stood back to let her do her thing.  
  
I waited until Hermione stepped back, and there was Farrah. She was clothed in rich robes and fresh-faced. She looked up groggily at me. "Who are you? I know you, don't I?"  
  
Again, Hermione snorted and I tossed her a dirty look. Then I edged my way back to Farrah. "Yes. It's me. Draco."  
  
She smiled weakly. "Draco Adrian Malfoy-Neiman," she whispered. I flinched at the sound of my full name (Neiman was my mother's maiden name). "It's Farrah. Farrah Young, do you remember me?"  
  
"Of course I do," I replied, trying to requite the smile. "Are you okay, Farrah?"  
  
"Now," she said, and suddenly her eyes opened wide. "Draco!" she shrieked.  
  
"Shh, calm down. I'm here."  
  
"No, no listen!" She threw her hand to my mouth in an effort to silence me. "It's bad! In there, it's bad!"  
  
"Farrah, I know. Shh, I know."  
  
"You don't! Draco, HELL!"  
  
"HELL?" I repeated back, suddenly very, very scared.  
  
"Dirty mouth she has, doesn't she," Hermione muttered. Ron snickered. Harry shrugged.  
  
"Hell is a code," I told them, watching my hands shake. "It's an acronym."  
  
"What for?" said Hermione curiously.  
  
"He Envisions Local Land."  
  
"Um…" Ron wagged his eyebrows skeptically.  
  
Only Harry seemed to catch on. "Does it mean…?"  
  
"Yes. It's worse than I thought. The plan's in a much farther place than I thought that it would be at this point."  
  
"Plan?" Hermione was confused, and I couldn't blame her.  
  
"Mione," Harry said, "I think that what Draco is trying to say… is that Voldemort is here."  
  
For the umpteenth time that night, Hermione was silenced. She shrank against the trunk of a tree and sank to the ground, nearby where Farrah sat. "Farrah?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Do you have your grounds pass?" I asked her urgently.  
  
She reached for where the man's shirt was strewn beside her. Out of the chest pocket she pulled a rectangle card. "Yes. Right here. But don't you?"  
  
"Yes," I said, tapping my foot impatiently, "but I can't use it. I need you to use your card to cut the dimension and get into the Mansion. Then, disable the apparition tracker gizmo, okay?"  
  
"Draco, she's in no state to do this!" Hermione protested.  
  
"Look, they're on their way." I felt like I was in a soap opera. "They tracked the magic by now and I'm sure that they're coming. Farrah can use the card as a portkey, as it's deigned to do, to get in and flick just one green button. It's the only choice we have."  
  
The secret object of my affections nodded. "I guess so," she admitted. I loved it when I won. Victory was mine. For the second, anyway. "Farrah, can you?"  
  
"Yes!" She seemed eager to do something. She seemed to have little trouble getting up; I steadied her and she nodded at me to release her. "Stand back," she warned. I motioned to Harry, Hermione, and Ron to follow me behind the log I had jumped over. We peered over from our location on the hard ground.  
  
Farrah took a deep, shaky breath and then flung the card into the air. Everything around her but her herself was blown away with the force of the whirlwind created. An unmaterialistic door appeared. It was clear, but visible. A voice spoke.  
  
"STATE YOUR NAME!" It bellowed over the wind.  
  
Farrah screamed back what must have been "Farrah Jane Young" but I couldn't hear. The door sucked her in and, after a moment, sucked itself in.  
  
We stood up, dusting ourselves off. "Did that just happen?" Ron asked incredulously.  
  
"Damn!" Hermione suddenly exclaimed.  
  
"Who has the dirty mouth now, Her—uh, Granger?" I laughed.  
  
"No, damn!"  
  
"Yeah, we heard you," Ron chuckled. "What? Break a nail?"  
  
"No! Draco's initials! Draco Adrian Malfoy-Neiman. They're an acronym, too. Damn."  
  
I blushed and then scowled. As if no one had ever pointed that out before.  
  
"Gez, Malfoy," Harry grinned. "You people are weird. Hell and Damn. Great acronyms you got there."  
  
"Yeah well… Hermione Anne Granger! HAG! Ha, so there!" I felt proud.  
  
Hermione was seemingly pissed. "You're so immature, Malfoy!" she wailed. She sounded like she was on the brink of tears as she turned away.  
  
"Yeah, Malfoy," Ron agreed as he shot me a glare. Harry seemed to think the same.  
  
"What!?" I sighed as I flailed my arms up and let them fall. "Were you guys not just mocking me? Did I miss something?" Something was wrong. It was a weird life I lived.  
  
A weird life I lived at 3 a.m. in the morning. Damn. And this time I'm not talking about my initials.  
  
  
  
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A/N: Thanks for my reviews! I don't have time to thank everyone tonight, my sibling is demanding the computer. So, I thought, I could post now and put em up later, or just not post at all until tomorrow. That's what I thought. Here's your chapter, and I'm hoping for at least 90 reviews total? Gracias! If I get 100, I'll find some weird bonus thing, I dunno, like a story preview or w/e. But I'll think of something.  
  
THANKS!!!  
  
3, Escritora the Late Poster Who is Incredibly Sorry for the Inconvenience 


	4. 3 a.m.--4 a.m.

A/N: Hi! Tis Escritora. Ok, so, I just finished the 5th chapter of "You, Me, and DADA" to find that fanfiction.net will be in a read-only mode for TWO WHOLE WEEKS. I might die. I could simply stop breathing and fall out of this uncomfortable blue folding chair that I have written many a story on. In case you never hear from me again, well, you'll know what happened. :o) So, I'm gonna write this chapter in hopes of having lots of things to post when reviewing-and posting-comes back. After this I'll probably work on the next chapter of "Road trip". then "Even Heroes Have the Right to Bleed." I haven't been writing a lot of poetry lately, I have my reasons, and yes- they're GOOD reasons. Oh yes, and only the beginning of the plot unfolds in this chapter, so don't be surprised if you have a couple questions left. Like, the details of Voldemort's whole plan thing. So, without further ado, I bring to you. the disclaimer.  
  
Oh wait! Before I give you the dreadfully boring disclaimer, I know that some of you thought that Hermione was somewhat OOC-a bit devilish for her character. I agreed, and tried to make her a bit more stick-in-the-muddish this chapter. That doesn't mean I made her a wimp. *devilish grin* You'll see.  
  
Disclaimer: Plot=Mine. Draco and the rest of the HP crew=Not mine. Farrah Young and Hugh McGregor=Mine. The Mansion, Hogwarts, and locations=Not mine. Also, spells and charms are.you guessed it. not mine too. (Oh yeah, and Sheryl Crow and songs aren't mine. For those of you who are wondering. well. I'm not a fan of her. I hate the new song. But she's used neither negatively or positively, so fans or not-fans alike can 'have a ball.')  
  
  
  
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"Where is she?" Hermione snapped, breaking the silence that had settled over us for the last five minutes-since Farrah had gone. "I don't see why you couldn't have just gone, Malfoy. At least then we'd have a flying chance in Hell of someone coming back. Even if you sent back a Death Eater."  
  
"Do shut up, Granger," I yawned. "If I used my card, they'd know that I was here AND who I was with. Oh yes, and I wouldn't come back if I was Farrah. I'd be too afraid of you."  
  
"Did anyone ever tell you," she smirked, "that you're not funny?"  
  
"Why, yes they have. Sorry to totally obliterate your 'original' comment, but it's been done."  
  
"Draco!" she shrieked in frustration. She stood up abruptly and began pacing the length of a fallen tree. Ron's freckled and rather oversized ears perked up.  
  
"I heard 'Draco' and you can't convince me otherwise!" he exclaimed with utmost satisfaction.  
  
"NO SHIT!"  
  
"Hermione, calm down," I pleaded, although I took about three giant steps away from her.  
  
"Malfoy," she snarled, "if you-what was that?"  
  
Some sort of whirring beep sounded, jolting us all from our states of tension. Harry, Hermione, and Ron were wildly scanning the forest, as if a secret loudspeaker was hidden in a tree or something. I smacked my hand against my forehead. For three teens who had defeated Voldemort countless times, they were pretty stupid.  
  
Harry was frozen-even his chest scarcely moved as he breathed. "Guys," he choked out shortly. Ron and Hermione's heads whipped around. "Don't-*gasp*-move. It could be-*gasp*-a bomb set off by-*gasp*-movement." Hermione and Ron paused to consider. I wasted no time in laughing my ass off. Harry's eyes narrowed at me. "Draco-*gasp*-what do you think you're- *gasp*-doing?"  
  
"Harry, you dolt," I managed to wheeze between convulsions of laughter. Finally calming myself down, I had to look away from where Harry stood rigid to keep myself from cracking up again. "Harry, you really underestimate my father if you think that he'd have a movement bomb. And, by the way, that was the sound of the tracking device being shut down. Farrah came through."  
  
Harry and Hermione both scowled; Ron simply looked relieved and hopped-well, practically hoppped-over the log with a cheerful smile. Harry and Hermione strode over as well, but I swear Harry's body tensed the whole time. "Which way, O Captain?" Hermione grumbled, pushing a wavy strand of hair out of her eyes. Please excuse me while I wistfully sigh. Okay, back.  
  
"Thattaway," I said. Harry and his super-troopers pushed past me and walked five yards in the direction that I was pointing in. Harry turned back around.  
  
"Now which way?" he asked.  
  
"Uh, guys?"  
  
"Yup?"  
  
"This might work better if I took the lead."  
  
"Oh. Right."  
  
I took my sweet time catching up, watching Hermione's scowl deepen with every lackadaisical step I took. It made me feel a little bad. but so amused. at the same time. Finally, I reached Harry's side and, with a mock authority tone, commanded that they follow me as I trudged through uprooted trees in a north-west direction.  
  
We continued on for ten minutes or so when there was light tap on my shoulder. I turned around, and-putting it rather simply-Hermione socked me in the face. "Blimey!" I bellowed as I stumbled back, clutching my mouth. "She punched me in the jaw!" I tried to complain, but it came out more like "Sha pun may in a ma." My back felt wet, and I relized that I had fallen against the trunk of a tree, wet and dewy from the previous night's rain. My head was swimming, dizzy and flashing colors that a head show not be displaying. My visions was blurry. I took my hand away from my mouth. It was covered in blood.  
  
"Er, Hermione?" came an extremely timid version of Ron's voice.  
  
"Yes, Ron?" Hermione replied sweetly.  
  
"Why did you do that, Hermione?" His voice shook with nerves. I rolled my head to the side. It felt ready to fall off and bounce onto the leaf- covered forest ground with a thud.  
  
"Oh," she answered darkly. "Can't you see, Ron? He's leading us into a trap!"  
  
"Wot? I ya m'not," I said, my words still disfigured by Hermione's blow-oh yeah, and the blood that kept filling up my mouth made it hard to speak. "I m'not. I ral eem'm not." Translation: "What? I'm not. I'm not. I really am not."  
  
Through my eyes I could make out Harry leaning over me. "His eyes are half- closed," announced the Boy Who Lived. "I don't think he's unsconscious."  
  
"Obviously not," Hermione snapped. "He just spoke."  
  
"What did he say?" asked Ron. His head and Hermione poked on the sides of Harry's.  
  
"He probably said, 'I can't believe you fell for my trap. Now you're all going to die.'"  
  
"Hermione!"  
  
"What, Har? Since when do you trust Draco?"  
  
"I could say the same for you."  
  
"Then what are we doing here?"  
  
"I could ask you the same thing, Herm."  
  
"Harry, don't you think your argument is a bit repetitive?"  
  
"Guys, c'mon!"  
  
"What Ron? You trust him?" Hermione sneered.  
  
"No!" Ron insisted hastily. Well, that was a no-brainer. I watched helplessly.  
  
"Then let's go," she said firmly.  
  
"Wait!" I murmured, trying to call. I felt my palms against the ground and tried to push myself up-to no avail, but it did catch their attention.  
  
Ron faltered as Harry and Hermione began to walk away. Come on Ron, I willed. Don't let them go.  
  
"Guys, we should hear him out. I'm not going."  
  
God bless Ronald Augustus Weasley. Hey, "RAW." So I wasn't the ony one- well, Hermione too-with weird initials.  
  
"Don't be a hero, Ron," said Hermione acidly. "It's not becoming on you."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron retorted. I heard the hurt in his voice. He knew what that was 'supposed to mean.' So did I. "What? Oh, right," he snorted. "Harry's the hero of the group."  
  
"I didn't say that," Hermione protested. "Don't be impossible, Ron."  
  
" 'Don't be a hero,' she says. 'Don't be impossible,' she says. Well, Her- mi-o-ne," he said, stressing each syllable of her name like a fantastically odd drunkard. "I'm not moving."  
  
It was silent. "We're not going to leave without you," Harry said quietly.  
  
"I know," Ron answered just as solemnly. I could feel Hermione nod. Ground had been broken.  
  
"Repairo mala os," she muttered. A few sparks danced around my mouth. The fog in my head seemed to seep out of my ears and it suddenly was light enough to be lifted upright on my shoulders. Slowly my mouth grew dry, and then normal, and I blinked furiously fast. I felt just fine.  
  
"Thanks," I said, a little louder than I had hoped to. It seemed to wake everybody up, remind them that we were alive.  
  
"So." Hermione trailed off.  
  
"It isn't a trap," I insisted quickly. It seemed to startle her.  
  
"Oh," she said shortly.  
  
I leaned in closer; they crouched down beside me, sensing that I was ready to speak. "You guys want to know what's going on?" Dry looks all around. "Okay, so that was an obvious question. I'm going to tell you, but you have to shut your mouths. Agreed?" They nodded. "Oh, and one more little factor in this pact."  
  
Harry raised his eyebrow. "What?"  
  
"There will be no punching. Man, Hermione, you've got one hell of a right hook."  
  
She blushed sheepishly. "Sorry-er, thank you." Harry and Ron laughed lightly.  
  
"Y'see." I shifted to the right. "It's no secret that most Death Eaters meet in the Mansion at special times. This," I said, lowering my voice, "is one of those times. Tonight, starting in the evening, will be one of the hugest Death Eater celebrations of the year."  
  
"Why?" Hermione butted in. I scowled to shut her up.  
  
"Because today, Hermione, is my eighteenth birthday."  
  
They stared at me. "So?" Ron asked.  
  
"Yeah, I'm with Ron. Why is your birthday a day for celebrating? I thought that you weren't becoming a Death Eater, so they shun you or something," said Harry, rather eloquently for a seventeen-year-old who was crouching in the dirt in a pair of plaid crimson boxer shorts and a white tank top. They all stared expectantly.  
  
"I didn't know that I wasn't going to definitely take my vows until a few hours ago," I explained, a note of hysteria threatening to creep into my voice. I held it in. I was surrounded by idiots-I would have to be the sane one. "So starting in a few hours, people will be coming to set up. It will probably take all day. Mum ordered a fountain." I smirked ironically at the thought. "People will start arriving for cocktails at four-in the evening, that is."  
  
Hermione's distrust in me got the better of her one more time. I did, after all, kidnap her from her room. I thought she was over that by now, though. "How do you know all this?"  
  
"Well, gee, Hermione," I said. "It is my party. I think I faintly remember receiving an invitation. Oh, yes, and picking the decorations." I really loved her. Really. But I had no patience at the moment for stupid questions. And then again. I felt bad. I wasn't being too kind for her. She had turned away. "Hey," I said. "Sorry." She nodded and smiled. Okay, back to the deathly important speech.  
  
"My father is the Dark Lord's right hand man. His son becoming a high follower is a huge event. So huge that they have a special event taking place in my name."  
  
"And I take it that it's not a rousing game of pin-the-tail-on-the- hippogriff?"  
  
"No, Ron," I laughed. "Unfortunately, no."  
  
"Then what is it?" Harry asked urgently.  
  
This time I was the one dishing out an ultimately dry expression. "Harry?"  
  
"Yes, Malfoy?"  
  
"It's Draco, really."  
  
"Yes, Draco?"  
  
"Let's think hard about Voldemort's to-do list, shall we? #1-Take over the world. #2-Take over the world. #3-Bathroom break while listening to Sheryl Crow CD. #4-Continue taking over the world."  
  
Ron stared at me hard. "Voldemort listens to Sheryl Crow?"  
  
I could only look at him and think, "Gee, I wonder what God was on when he made this kid." Instead, I sighed. "Yes, Ron. Voldemort listens to Sheryl Crow."  
  
Ron shook his head. "Well, I'll be damned. And I thought Percy was the only one."  
  
Hermione, Harry, and I locked eyes. This kid really was clueless.  
  
"So," said Harry, breaking the "Ron's-an-idiot" tension. "Taking over the world again, eh? You'd think that with all the time on his hands he'd think of an original idea."  
  
"Like smoothies for all?" Hermione giggled.  
  
"Or kids-eat-free day at 'Ol Voldie's Kitchen of Pain?" Ron piped in.  
  
"Or hey, I'll just take over the world again," I snapped. Did they not get how serious this was? Of course they didn't. They had always come out on top with the Dark Lord, so why should they be scared? I would have loved to tell them right then, but Ron was busy trying to remember the lyrics to some-you guessed it-Sheryl Crow song. Harry and Hermione were crooning along, leaving me to roll my eyes at their stupidity of the moment. I checked my watch. A quarter to four? It couldn't be! And yet it was.  
  
"Guys," I said; no one paid any attention. "GUYS!"  
  
"What?" asked Harry, breaking the Sheryl Crow trance.  
  
"Let's go!"  
  
"Go.?"  
  
"To the Manor-where have you been for the last few hours, Ron?"  
  
"Well," said Ron, considering an actual answer, "I tried to go to asleep and then woke up because people were laughing. I walked over to see Neville on top of a girl, and he rolled over and it was Pansy Parkinson. Nar Litkins* grabbed her clothes and Guy Wimsdon* tried to pull the covers away but Pansy managed to cover herself-not like half the guys hadn't already seen what she had," he added thoughtfully. "And then Harry was yelling for someone to get them clothes and then you and you-" He jerked his head toward Hermione-"were sitting there and I had makeup on me and-wait!" Ron suddenly looked angry. "I never did get an explanation for that."  
  
"You made Ginny's boyfriend break up with her," said Hermione. "How'd you know that?"  
  
"Huh?" Hermione's voice rose to nervousness. "What do you mean?"  
  
"We read your diary," I offered, and then added very, very quickly upon seeing a few buckets of steam rising out from his ears, "But we didn't enjoy it. At all."  
  
Harry was chuckling. Ron shot him a death ray via his eyes. Needless to say, Harry stopped laughing immediately and settled down. "I'm sorry, Ron," Hermione tried. "I really am. We won't tell Ginny. We just thought that. Well, the makeup and. you know how it is."  
  
Ron shrugged, with an aura that was so unfeeling that I saw Hermione flinch. "Let's go," he said softly, and I wordlessly trudged on without checking to see if anyone followed. They would, and they did.  
  
We hiked for five minutes. I assumed that the guards that had been sent to track us had gotten lost when the device had been shut down. But, that meant that they could be anywhere out there so I urged them to stay quiet as we quickly darted through the bushes and trees until I could make out the front gates, a brilliant gold flash of bars that were surely shined that morning by a lucky house elf-well, they were shined every morning, but it's anyone's guess, right? Ron's face stayed dull and thoughtful; Harry kind of gave off the feeling of being in an awkward situation; and Hermione, as she often did, seemed to be preoccupied with a million thoughts concerning her rather intelligent mind.  
  
We stood back, only a few yards away the golden front gates of the Malfoy Mansion-or commonly, and notoriously known as simply the Mansion. "It's amazing," said Hermione breathlessly.  
  
"What is?" My curiosity got the best of me.  
  
"It's amazing," she said, "that such a place of evil could look so absolutely beautiful."  
  
I was slightly offended-it was, after all, my home and I had been raised them and turned out, er, fine. Anyone would be a little miffed if someone called their house a "place of evil," but I couldn't really get mad. She was right, really. But not just about the whole evil deal. The Manor was awing.  
  
It towered, consuming its given acres like a proud mother. It was four stories tall, but it seemed as if it was ten times that, just standing back and admiring it. It was mainly black and gray, but the carvings, sparkling with a gold tint and silver streaks, were artworks whose match went unmet by even the greatest painters and sculptors of the wizarding and Muggle worlds alike. The shutters were a pale silver that seemed to invite you in to a place of majesty, and each roof shackle was adorned with a design that left Harry, Hermione, and Ron dumbstruck. I only gazed disappointedly at the front door, which lay about twenty yards down a pebble path from the gate. "Hey," I said. "They moved the 'welcome' mat."  
  
"What now?" asked Hermione. She shivered, although it was rather warm out for the early hours of the morning.  
  
"I guess we climb the gate," I shrugged.  
  
Harry raised his eyebrows. "Remind me why we can't just stick your card in this little slot"-he poked the card slot mounted on a brick wall on the end of the gate-"and walk up the path."  
  
"And while we're at it," I retorted sourly, "we can ring the doorbell and give Voldemort a bottle of champagne as a party gift-oh yes, and hand over Harry as well to be probed and then brutally murdered."  
  
Harry blanched. He was wringing his hands like a child who had eaten ten packs of sugar before attempting to fall asleep and suddenly had anxieties that gave a psychologist nightmares. "What, Harry?" I scoffed. "Didn't anyone tell you that Voldemort would love to kill you?"  
  
"I knew that," said Harry, shifting from side to side. "But nobody mentioned there'd be probing involved."  
  
"You've got to be kidding me, Potter." I shook my head. Idiots. "Let's climb over the gate, shall we?"  
  
"Do we have much of a choice?" Ron grumbled.  
  
"No," I said flatly.  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Well, don't just stand there, Ron."  
  
"I'm sorry, Malfoy, I must have been too busy sticking up for you when directions for what to do were handed out," he sneered.  
  
"Or singing 'Soak Up the Sun'," I muttered.  
  
"What was that?" Ron had his murderous look on. I decided not to continue on the subject.  
  
"You're tallest," I said matter-of-factly. "So give me a boost up."  
  
"This is ridiculous!" Ron exclaimed.  
  
"Do it, Ron," Harry ordered sternly.  
  
"Harry," said Ron, "you just told me to hoist your worst enemy up on my hands so that he can climb over the gate to one of the most evil places in the world. Can I give you a moment to rephrase or completely change what you just said?"  
  
"Ron." This time it was Hermione speaking testily. I shot her a grateful, but weak, smile.  
  
"Fine," Ron gave in. He interlocked his fingers and placed the palms up. "Let's do this, Malfoy."  
  
I hesitated, and then picked up my left leg and placed it on his hands. Holding the bar, I hoisted myself up and began climbing until I was nearly sitting on the top. It wasn't a very comfortable position. I let go with my right arm and started to slide my left leg to adjust my position, wavering violently over the gate to my home.  
  
"Can I let go now?" Ron gasped from under me.  
  
"No," I said sharply. If he let go. I scrambled to secure a position. The gate was still wet from the previous night's rain-or perhaps the sprinklers- and I felt my grip slipping as I began to lose my balance over the top bar.  
  
"I can't hold on much longer!"  
  
"Ron, you can't!"  
  
"Mal-foy. I'm gonna. faint."  
  
"Weasley!"  
  
"Hurry!"  
  
"Weasley, just-" I felt my foot catch nothing but the air. He had let go and staggered backwards onto the concrete. I wavered dangerously, trying to grasp the gate but it wasn't enough. I teetered, knowing that I was going to fall back. "Catch me!" I managed to bark out before I totally lost anything to hold onto and went crashing down.  
  
Thud.  
  
Ouch. That really, really hurt. "Why. didn't you. catch me?" I asked groggily.  
  
"Because you're on the other side of the gate," Harry said flatly. "Nice fall, Malfoy."  
  
I struggled to lift up my neck and scanned around me. Sure enough, I had fallen onto the other side of the gate and could see Hermione and Harry watching me from behind the bars. Oh, so that's why home had always felt like a prison. Or maybe it was because of the Death Eaters roaming the hallway to make sure I didn't do anything I wasn't supposed to do-like send a Muggle a 'Get Well' card. Ron, however, was breathing heavily on the ground. "Malfoy," he gasped. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."  
  
"Ron," I breathed, trying to catch air. "You nearly gave me a broken back, neck, skull, collarbone, rib cage-"  
  
"Okay," he said, finding his footing and standing up. His steps were shaky. "We're even. You read my diary and almost gave me heart failure, and I almost made you break everything in your body. Shake on it."  
  
I rolled my head to see he was clutching the railing and had his hand jutted through the bars. "You've got to be kidding me. If you think that I'm getting up just yet," I croaked, "then you have another thing coming." My watch beeped. Four a.m. And I was lying on my back on the grounds of the Malfoy Mansion like a washed-up turtle. A washed-up turtle that was losing the feeling in his. well, his whole body.  
  
  
  
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*I stole Guy Wimsdon and Nar Litkins from another story of mine, "Even Heroes Have the Right to Bleed," where they actually are characters (friends of Harry's). READ THAT! It's my best writing, I think, and it's so underappreciated. Ok, so it has 139 reviews, but compared to some of my other stories. Anyway.  
  
A/N: Hi. Chapter done. Supposedly fanfiction.net will be back tonight in read-only so I can't post this (it's 12:45 a.m. on July 2nd). So, um, thanks for reviewing my last chapter. I really appreciate it. Yup. So, uh. Oh, yeah, a friend of mine was asking for my user name on here. and I guess I only trust a couple people to read my stuff. So is it weird that I didn't want to give my friend my user name? Hmm. Okay. So. g'night everybody. Be happy. Drive a Volkswagon Beetle-much cuter than a Chevy. :o)  
  
  
  
Adios~Escritora 


	5. 4 a.m.--5 a.m.

A/N: Okay, okay, here's the FREAKING CHAPTER. A lot of you were pressuring me to update this, which really isn't appreciated. I even got a four or five e-mails... please, don't harass me for a chapter. It comes when it comes, and it's only been a couple weeks. I have had some favorite stories of mine not be updated for a month. I really don't like that, so stop. You'll notice my frustrations were vented in this chapter (DON'T CHUCKLE!!!).  
  
With that being said, let's focus on the actual story. Keep in mind that I have to stretch this out for nineteen more hours, set-up for the gala won't begin until at least ten a.m. and it won't start till four, so be patient for action and dramatic plot twists. You may find these next few chapters boring. And you won't get much more information about Voldemort's big Sheryl Crow-less plan for a little while. Patience, my friends. Yep.  
  
Okay, so, if you live in the USA, pick up the September issue of "ym." There's a story in there called "In the Blazer," and it made me cry. Powerful, amazing stuff. And this is coming from the girl who didn't shed a tear during "A Walk To Remember" --give me a break, I knew the ending. Um, she dies. Oh, so NOW I'm gonna cry...? What bad timing I have, I swear.  
  
Here's the chapter. You demanded it, so cherish it, name it "Mary," and bring it home for your wrinkled parents to coo over until they forget how to speak normal English (or whatever the hell you feel like speaking).  
  
It's short. Live with it. :o)  
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, etc, belongs to JK Rowling. I'm in such a bad mood that I don't feel like writing a stupid little corny thing for the disclaimer. That's bad, right? Don't worry, it's not your fault.  
  
I'm off to go write about naked Draco for my 14th chapter of "Even Heroes Have the Right to Bleed." Right.  
  
  
  
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"It's all good and well that you made it to the other side," Hermione Granger said impatiently, tapping her bare foot against the concrete. "But how do you suggest that we do the same?"  
  
Using all the strength I could muster, I hoisted myself up onto my elbows and shot her a dark look. "Honestly," I drawled, coughing slightly. "The same way I got over, Mione."  
  
"Hey!" Ron said angrily, still gasping for breath. "You can't call her Mione!"  
  
We all ignored him.  
  
"I refuse to break every bone in my body just to... just to..." She looked up at me with crinkled eyes. "What ARE we doing?"  
  
"I was trying to tell you that," I said calmly, "but you were too busy singing, 'Iiiiiiiii wanna soak up the sunnnn, I don't know the words 'cause I... have a life--"  
  
For the love of God, SHUT UP," Hermione groaned, covering her ears with her long, pale fingers. Her adorably bushy brown hair had been tucked absently behind her ears. God, that was cute. I flushed.  
  
"Right," I grumbled, staggering to my feet. "You're skinny. Can't you squeeze through the bars?"  
  
"No," she said nastily. Well, gee, she didn't need to get so defensive. Isn't skinny a good thing with girls? Consider me clueless.  
  
I shrugged. "Well, then, climb up on Wonder Bread's shoulders and jump over."  
  
"Don't you mean Wonder Boy?" Harry asked innocently.  
  
"If you insist that I call you that--just remember, you said so."  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Because that worked so well for you, I see."  
  
Again, I shrugged. "I'm over here, aren't I?"  
  
Harry chuckled. We all stared at him like he had just jumped to his feet and declared his deep sexual feelings for Mother Theresa. "What?" I snapped. Really, was it a chuckling mood? Maybe an unnerved boom of laughter or a shrill giggle, but really--chuckling? Way to kill a murderous mood, Potter. Chuckling... pft.  
  
ANYWAY.  
  
"You two," he CHUCKLED, folding his arms across his chest in a manner that I found rather obnoxious. "Continue with that petty bickering."  
  
I raised an impish eyebrow. "You call it bickering, I call it sexual tension."  
  
Hermione nearly fainted. "What?!"  
  
I would have chuckled, but this aforementioned form of laughter was NOT appropriate for this situation. SO WHY WAS HARRY CHUCKLING?  
  
Okay. I'll admit it. At this point, I was losing it. My mind was beginning to go, but honestly--can you blame me? Look at what I have to work with here! Sheryl Crow crooning, nearly passed out, irritable Ron; aghast, pissy, suspicious (but angelic--c'mon, she's gorgeous!) Hermione; and then GODDAMN CHUCKLING HARRY. I'm sorry, I had to get that out of me. Deep breath time. In. Out. In. Out. We're still talking about breathing, you stupid, chuckling perverts. Perverts. Chuckling perverts. If there's one thing I hate, it's chuck--all right, fine. Enough of my little woes.  
  
"Sexual tension?!" Hermione cried out. Did she have to look so horrified?  
  
"What," I said calmly, "you weren't aware of the romantic strain between us?" I feigned mock hurt. "And I thought it was mutual." Actually, it kind of did hurt. This confused me.  
  
"Malfoy," she said disdainfully--she was the only one who could say my name like that. So... hatefully. Damn.  
  
"Fine, whatever." Does sounding like I don't care help me care less? I wish. "But how else do you suggest getting on this side of the gate?"  
  
"Magic," Ron said loudly and slowly.  
  
"I don't have a hearing aid, Weasley," I said dryly. "Although let's chat about all of the other impairments I have from when Draco Malfoy had a great fall."  
  
"All of the horses and all the king's men -- " Hermione giggled.  
  
"--couldn't put Draco Malfoy together again," Harry finished proudly, and they broke down laughing. I could only blink; Ron's reaction mirrored mine.  
  
"Riiight," I said, scrambling backwards a step. "And I thought the Sheryl Crow impressions were bad."  
  
"We all did," Hermione said grimly, her laughter letting up. She turned to Harry. "Help me up."  
  
Harry shook his head firmly. "No way. Look what happened to Malfoy."  
  
"I'll be fine, Harry, really."  
  
"And doesn't it make you feel safe to know that I'll be on the other side to catch you?" I smirked.  
  
"Maybe it isn't such a good idea," she said to Harry.  
  
"C'mon," I moaned. "Joke. Ha. Ha."  
  
"Fine," she grumbled, and she stepped onto Harry's hands. My heart skipped a beat as she wobbled--and then regulated as she grabbed on to the top of the gold gate and steadied herself. She parted her legs over the top bar; okay, that must have hurt me a lot more than it did to her. She winced anyway. Wussie.  
  
"Draco," she said with urgency, swinging her other leg over. She teetered, sitting on the top bar. "Can you get me down?"  
  
I stared up at her. "I can't reach that high."  
  
"You're over six feet!" she cried shrilly. I disguised my panic--however, Hermione didn't even try to.  
  
"Just stay still," I said slowly through gritted teeth, watching her begin to flail. "Calm down! The highest I can reach is your ankles."  
  
An unrecognizable noise escaped from her throat. Well, it definitely wasn't a yawn, I can promise you that much. "Just... just stay calm, okay?" I will not panic, I will not panic, I will not panic, I will not panic, I will not panic. Wow, repetition really wasn't working. "Hermione," I said, clearing my throat uncomfortably. "Jump."  
  
"What?!" She seemed to want to give me a hideously frightened look, but she wouldn't tear her eyes away from her hands on the bars. She'd shoot an occasional nervous glance at the ground, of course, but that was the exception.  
  
"I'll catch you," I said steadily, trying to convince her with my tone. "I promise. I'll catch you. Trust me."  
  
Harry spoke from the other side. "Trust you? There's a better chance of the Dark Lord adopting her to be his beloved daughter and decorating her bedroom in frilly pink sheets and curtains."  
  
"Harry," Hermione said testily. She nervously glanced at me. "Promise, Draco?"  
  
I took a deep, shaky breath. "I promise."  
  
She smiled a very odd smile and then yelled, "Here we go!" I felt like I should call out a protest, but I didn't. I glued my mouth shut. And without another word she bounced off of the rail and flew through the air.  
  
Her white nightgown billowed up as she fell like an angel from heaven. I almost forgot to catch her--I was too mesmerized by the fallen angel. ^DRACO! PUT YOUR ARMS OUT!^ cried my inner voice. Oh, right.  
  
Three steps to the left, one forward, two back, arms out; she landed in my arms like you might hold a toddler, and I stammered backwards. She was light, but it was still a struggle for me to not fall down. Keeping my stance, I turned to place my back against the gate to steady myself.  
  
"Draco," she breathed as we panted for breath. "You can put me down now."  
  
Two pink circles appeared on my cheeks. "Oh. Right." I carelessly let her slip from my hands. She barely landed on her feet.  
  
"Well, you did catch me," she said uneasily, trying to compose herself. The nightgown fluttered against her bare ankles. "And then you just nearly dropped me."  
  
"You said to put you down," I tried, raising one of my shoulders up and letting it slump back down. "But, uh, new problem."  
  
Ron crooked an eyebrow. "What's that?"  
  
"You," I said.  
  
"Me?"  
  
"Uh huh," I said nonchalantly, twiddling my thumbs and turning to face him through the bars. Harry stood a few yards back.  
  
"Why am I a problem?" Ron asked begrudgingly, folding his arms defensively.  
  
"Well," I said, "besides the obvious..." Ron glowered at me. "You both can't get over the gate. And we can't leave Harry alone, or really you either for that matter."  
  
"So..."  
  
"So what?"  
  
"So how are we going to do this?"  
  
"Weasley," I snapped. "I don't have time for a nonsensical conversation."  
  
He glared. "And yet you have time to look up Hermione's dress."  
  
I smiled smugly just to irritate that red-faced git. "It's a nightgown."  
  
Hermione pinched me. "You... you pig!"  
  
I shrugged. "I guess that's an improvement from 'you evil Death Eater,' right?"  
  
"Now's not the time to be optimistic," Harry said flakily, taking an awkward step forward. "Are you trying to tell us that we have to stay behind."  
  
"For now," I nodded.  
  
"No way!" Ron spoke up immediately, still sending daggers in my direction. "I am--we are--we're not leaving Hermione with... with him!" he sputtered, jerking his thumb in my direction.  
  
"I can take care of myself, Ron, thank you," Hermione said haughtily, sticking her nose in the air.  
  
"All right then," I said, beckoning down the path to the doors. "Let's go."  
  
"Hold on a second," she cut in, waving a dismissive hand at me. "I didn't say I was coming with you."  
  
"But you just said--"  
  
"Fine, I'll come," Hermione said, leaving me to stare confusedly at the brunette as she stomped ahead. Watching her go, I looked back helplessly to Ron and Harry. They seemed just as confused.  
  
Girls.  
  
"Wait!" I called before shooting Harry and Ron one last desperate look, and ran off after Hermione Granger. She barely gave me a look as she went to throw open the double-doors.  
  
"NO!" I plunged my hand forward and slapped her hand away. The quizzical look she gave me was priceless, and I forgot to blink. "You can't just pull the doors open. There are charms everywhere."  
  
"Oh," she said. The smartest student in our graduating class blushed a faint pink. "I suppose I should've known that." I nodded dully. "So, how do we get in?"  
  
I fumbled for my wand out of my jacket as an answer and tapped it on the handles. "Expositus," I said loudly, staring expectantly at the handles. Nothing happened.  
  
"What's going on? It's freaking me out," Hermione whispered out of the corner of her mouth.  
  
I made a slight shrugging motion. "It senses your fear," I hissed.  
  
"What?!"  
  
I rolled my eyes. "You heard me."  
  
"Are you joking?" Her eyes opened wide, incredulous. I shifted to look at her out of the corners of my own.  
  
"I'm not sure," I whispered, still wary of the doors. "They should have opened."  
  
"Try again." She nudged me.  
  
"Expositius." Again, nothing happened. Not even a toad appeared. "Maybe my wand's broken. Hermione, give me yours."  
  
"I was kidnapped. I didn't get to take my wand," she said disdainfully. I gulped.  
  
"Right. Well, I'll try it one more time."  
  
"Go on," she said impatiently. I stared at the doors. Something was wrong.  
  
"Expositus," I said, and something did happen. The doors flew open, but not from my wand. There stood four tall, hooded figures in the doorway. Two still had their hands on the door from pushing it open. I took a step back, and reached for Hermione. Grasping onto her limp forearm tightly, I fixed my dropped jaw and stared defiantly at where their faces should be.  
  
"You can't stop us!" I said, trying to hide the quaver in my voice. I wondered if I was even the tiniest bit convincing.  
  
"What ever are you talking about, Son?" rang a cold, clear voice from behind the Death Eaters. With a drawling smile lining his thin lips, my father stepped out from the 'Eaters and stood before me and Hermione.  
  
Hermione gasped. I clutched her tighter. I turned around wildly, and was only mildly relieved to see that Harry and Ron had dove to hide behind the sculpted shrubbery. "Draco," Hermione quivered beside me.  
  
"Why, Miss Hermione Granger," Lucius Malfoy drawled, towering over us from the front door's ledge. "Welcome to the Manor." He turned to me, and opened his mouth to speak when he stopped abruptly and stared at my wrist.  
  
"My son," he said. "What was that?"  
  
I jabbed a finger at my wristwatch. "Well, Daddy dearest," I said bitingly, feeling my fingers go white against Hermione's skin. "That's a watch."  
  
"Why did it beep?"  
  
"It's five a.m." It hit me. Five a.m. Five hours down, nineteen to go. I would've fainted, but there was no way I could leave Hermione alone to deal with my father and his gang of Death Eaters. Instead, I gritted my teeth and looked into his eyes. They were bluer than mine. "What do you want, Father?"  
  
"Step inside," he invited with a greeting smile. He swept his arm at the entrance. "Let's chat."  
  
  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: OKAY, so it's a little shorter than it should be. But that's all I could do. And I realize that that would not take an hour, but oh well. Sorry that I'm being a bitch right now, it's been a long week for unknown reasons.  
  
Yeah. Thanks to all reviewers. You guys kick arse. I'm bored. I start high school in four days, and I'm beginning to get nervous. I can't imagine it being easy to be a freshman. Oh well... See ya guys later.  
  
Adios~Escritora 


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